‘Thanks.Darien.’
Chapter Thirteen
Darien
‘Explosive movements are something—’
‘Explosive movements?’
Shantal turns to Henri, who looks absolutely appalled. The rest of us can’t hold it in. We burst out laughing. Miguel is slapping his knee while I lean against him. I’m pretty sure even our trainers can hear us from the conference room in the Heidelberg building, despite the fact that we’re all the way out on the track for a second walkthrough.
‘Oh, god,’ groans Shantal. She reaches over and pokes Henri in the ribs, making him jump. ‘Is it any better if I say “explosive motions”?’
‘Not really,’ I tease her, ‘but go ahead.’
She rolls her eyes at me with a generous helping of disdain as we all finally pull ourselves together and continue our early Monday morning track walk, down the main straight and towards the first corner. ‘Well,explosive motionsare something we worked on a lot with Crystal Palace,’ she tells us. ‘Fromsome … first-hand observations, I’ve determined that can benefit our team, too.’ We share a knowing glance.
Maybe I’m genuinely hallucinating, but I could have sworn we formed ashredof a rapport up there on Cantagalo last week, and even a shred would be enough to move on from Shantal’s frosty, all-business demeanour. Unfortunately, it looks as if we’re back to square one. In fact, it feels like we’re behind square one. The wall between us crumbled for a minute, but now it’s back up, and it’s sturdier than ever.
‘So that’s what I’d like to begin with on Conquest’s sim systems,’ she finishes.
‘But Shantal, whatareexplosive motions?’ Miguel echoes all our thoughts. ‘Other than the uncontrollable shits.’
Now even Shantal can’t hold it in. She laughs this big, beautiful laugh with this weird little hiccup in the middle. ‘Beautiful’ almost seems like a criminal word to use for the woman who’s been gradually picking away at my brain, but I guess it’s accurate. Especially considering yesterday. Everything about yesterday.
Man, I need that wall to fall apart for good.
‘Okay, I give in, it sounds funny,’ admits Shantal. ‘But in football, we train explosive motions to allow our players to change direction, move faster, react quicker. I want us to target that. Improve our adaptability, give us an edge on the sharp curves and overtakes. Catch the things the other teams might not?’
‘That I can agree with,’ says Miguel in approval. ‘Turn times were a little slow in the old data, right?’
Shantal nods. ‘Just slightly. So your trainers will work with you on the individual components of the performance plan they got together this morning. We decided to start by running a slightly modified version of this very track on the sim, so we can figure out exactly where we stand.’
‘Is this the Coach Shantal part?’ Henri asks with his usual childlike curiosity.
‘I guess you could say that.’ She’s not being obvious about it, but I can tell that little compliment bolsters Shantal’s confidence. And seeing that, seeing the way she holds herself becomes surer, something in my chest goes warm.
‘This could be the leg-up Heidelberg needs to take the Championship. Coach Shantal,’ I remark with a smile.
It seems to take Shantal aback. I’ve seen people preen before – pretending they know everything about our team’s engines, asking for a hot lap to impress us with their ability to stomach it; I’ve seen it all from people in Shantal’s position. Yet she still doesn’t care about appearances or fame; she just plods along like a kid figuring out a little more about the world with each step.
And for the record, she did lookreallygood in my helmet.
We pack up shop for the day after a weight-training session. Celina has me doing a new exercise on Conquest’s programmable Iron Neck rather than the usual slower stuff: a small but quick turn that leaves my neck and shoulders hellishly sore by the end of it. The trainers show us how to turn Gs up and down, how to switch up the abruptness of a turn, link up our data so the machine knows what setting we need to practise on every session. It’s different. We’re definitely struggling. But struggles, at least in practice, are wins.
Instead of being on track for the remainder of the week, we spend it introducing more motions that will increase our team’s response, using equipment smarter than anything I’ve ever seen in my life (even at that one weird-ass gym in Montreal). Shantal, to her credit, is adapting well to a sport she has so little experience of. It’s got to be the seventh ring of hell, but she doesher best to come back the next morning with a coffee and a yawn. She is as persistent as she was about going to Cantagalo, and I’m coming to admire that.
Friday rolls around fast, hot and sunny. No one’s in the frame of mind to work out with the weather so nice. It almost feels like a sin. So it’s a relief when the trainers let us all out for a much-needed off-day.
I watch Miguel and Henri chatter excitedly, gym bags and suitcases on their arms as they head off into the atrium for the weekend, not a care in the world. I’m pretty sure Miguel’s already buzzing with excitement about seeing Diana again for winter testing weekend – they’re suffering through a forced exile from one another while their respective teams prepare for the season. Henri’s just starstruck by the thought of actually meeting ‘theDiana “Danger” Zahrani’. Henri, as young and new to me as he is, seems to allow absolutelynothingto knock him down, and when it does, he gets back up right away. We still joke with the kid, because there’s an obvious opening there – I mean, he’s barely allowed to drink – but both Miguel and I have earned a new respect for him over the past two weeks.
‘Hey, Dar!’ Miguel calls, waving me over. ‘You know a guy, right?’
‘Depends on what you need.’ I grin and sling my bag over my shoulder. ‘But odds are, I know someone for it.’
‘Do you have a good pitch around here?’ Henri cuts in eagerly.
‘Oh.Oh, are youaskingme that?’ I feign extravagant insult. ‘There’s a turf in Leblon, someone’s uncle has a membership … and I can absolutely get us in.PlusI know a couple of guys who wouldn’t mind joining us.’
